


this war i fight

by CruelisnotMason



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark entity, Flawed Shiro (Voltron), Friends With Benefits, Horny, Hurt, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred, Smut, alternative ending, no romantic feelings between shiro and curtis, resolving the end between allura and Haggar, s7 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/pseuds/CruelisnotMason
Summary: “And I said,” Curtis repeats, voice firm, “I’m happy to assist withanything.”When Shiro’s eyes snap back to Curtis again, he focuses on Curtis’ gaze first, then the small smile curling around his lips. Shiro doesn’t have time to fully comprehend Curtis’ meaning – was he always so coy?  – before Curtis places a hand on Shiro’s thigh and sinks to his knees.Oh,Shiro thinks with startling clarity.That’s happening.
Relationships: (seemingly onesided), Adam/Curtis (Voltron), Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 112





	this war i fight

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Giver by K. Flay inspired me a lot to write this fic🙏

It’s past midnight and Shiro is up and in the control room again. He keeps reminding his crew to be rested for them to work efficiently. Obeying begrudgingly, his crew normally does take breaks and end work at the Atlas’ internal clocks at 7pm. They eat, train, sleep properly and therefore use their free time dutifully, whereas Shiro himself can’t seem to follow up on his own advice.

Shiro knows, he should rest too. But then there are still a couple pages from new reports that he has to look over or recalibrate the Atlas from the control room when the sentient ship begs for his attention. It means a long night from time to time filled with work, even though sometimes the reports could wait until morning or the ship could be recalibrated by Holt or Slav just the same.

Sometimes, he simply enjoys the time alone in his familiar workplace which doesn’t feel as empty as his own room on the Atlas. Shiro can’t help feeling like his own room is either too small or too big and without the familiarity and body memory of his workspace, he tends to get lost in a feeling too similar to the void of the Black Lion’s consciousness. He’d never admit to anyone how much it scares him and stays content with the control room being his safe space in some parts.

He goes through his readings despite his eyelids begging him to close them for a few minutes for well-earned rest. Instead, he continues searching for hints of the Witch or the Druids, or any sign of where they should best head to next. Fights have been won in the past, but there’s so much more they need to do that they don’t know where to start. Shiro sighs and leans back in the seat he usually sits in, when he’s not standing at the bridge, piloting the ship. He sighs again and raises his heavy arm to hold up the datapad comically high and close to his eyes to brace himself for another couple minutes of reading.

He’s sure he has read the last sentence five times already without understanding its contents when he’s startled by a small cough and a voice that says, “That’s my seat.”

Shiro almost falls out of the chair, the obnoxious clatter of the datapad falling first to his face and then to the ground is hurting his ears. When he collects himself enough, he blinks one, two times at the apologetic face of one of his crew members. It’s Curtis who came back to the control room.

Shiro sits up and picks up his datapad from the ground. “It’s past work times,” he says, not trying to sound accusingly. It backfires. Curtis raises an eyebrow at him.

“It doesn’t stop you from being here either, Sir,” he remarks and simply drops into the seat next to Shiro, which is usually reserved for Coran. “There are some reports we got in earlier. I wanted to look over it again.”

Shiro watches as he neatly places his left hand on the desk and takes out his own datapad from his bag. “And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Shiro asks and regrets being so oblivious to his own double standards. Curtis could ask him the same, seeing Shiro’s still up and in the control room for no apparent reason, either.

Curtis bends down to take a stack of paper and a single pencil to place them both to his left. He smiles to himself with his eyes looking forward, pointedly not returning the intense gaze Shiro gives him, and shrugs. “No, it couldn’t,” he says.

Shiro accepts the answer for what it is and turns back to his own pastime. They work in silence, with what Shiro marks as the end to their first actual conversation then and there.

*

Shiro tries to remind himself that there’s no need to feel guilty for feelings. Emotions are natural, they are there to be felt, no matter how unwelcomed they are. He’s young, Shiro reminds himself, but old enough to know that sometimes, there’s nothing he can do against it.

And still, for his own dignity (or what’s left of it) and in order to not resume to a creepy perv, he tries to look anywhere but Keith’s ass raised in front of him.

The Black Paladin currently sits on all fours, struggling with the door of the cabinet on the trainings deck. Shiro went for an early training and ran into him by accident; that, but Keith hasn’t noticed him yet.

Shiro has only so much strength and therefore lets his gaze wander briefly. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the muscled and firm thighs and the round ass of someone else, he tries to tell himself. Even if it’s your best friend. That looks up to you. And trusts you.

“Shiro?” Keith interrupts his thoughts, looking up to him from where he’s crouching on the floor. Shiro’s eyes snap from Keith’s ass to his face. He hopes Keith didn’t notice.

Shiro licks his lips. “Sorry. I came here and got lost in my thought,” he hurries to say. That much was true. For a moment, Shiro didn’t know who was sitting there and simply came closer. “What are you doing?”

Keith turns around on his knees to face him, takes the hand Shiro holds out for him to stand up. “The training bot turned off all of the sudden. I wanted to look if the cables were still plugged in.”

“I think Hunk mentioned he wanted to reboot his system last week,” Shiro says, sheepishly and with an apologizing look. He sees realization daunting upon Keith.

“Ah.” Keith folds his arms in front of chest and leans against the wall. His mouth curls into a small smile. The black strands of hair fall into his face, but Keith simply lets it happen, only blows them away so they won’t tickle his nose. His lips are reddish, his eyes clear. One eyebrow raises a tiny bit higher than the other. His black sportswear stretches over the muscles that became more muscular since his time on the space whale. Shiro is so in love. And distracted.

“Figures,” Keith sighs, thankfully without noticing Shiro’s distraction.

“I could train with you,” Shiro hears himself speak. Keith perks up immediately. He’s nodding, taking his gloves off already.

“You need a warm-up first?”

“Not that old yet,” Shiro mutters and sheds his jacket off. He doesn’t ask for the few minutes he’d desperately need to forget about Keith’s thighs, his perfect torso, perfect face and eyes to calm himself. It’s a battle he has long lost. Especially when Keith is in front of him, meeting him with and excitement Shiro sometimes feels lacking in his own life. Keith does the first few tentative steps to circle around Shiro quickly after they both moved into position. “We haven’t done that in a long time,” he remarks.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, thoughts circling – like the two of them – about everything and nothing, caged in the enclosed room without emergency exit. Shiro should calm his breath, focus. Focus. Focus, slowly. He should do everything else but think. Shiro closes his eyes, then opens them again.

Strong thighs. Cocky smile. The eyes. The glossy hair. Keith, a beautiful whole. The emotion washes over Shiro. Then, guilt. “We haven’t.”

Shiro forgets about calm and collected, forgets about fear making one weak, and attacks upfront.

*

The next night he hides away in the Atlas control room, going over another report, this time from Balmera. It’s a detailed message about pirates stealing Balmeran crystals and sighting of Druids near the Balmeran moon. Shiro sighs as he reads through it. The movement of his head, while he does, loosens one strand of hair. He raises his hand, moves his torso a little –

And lets out a shuddered groan.

The sharp pain daggers into his side. “Fuck,” he mutters. The big bruise and pain is a reminder of the other day when Keith slammed him onto the ground relentlessly. It’s Shiro’s own fault for moving aggressively when he should have been careful. Keith stopped the moment Shiro raised his hand with a crooked smile, holding his right arm. Shiro thinks of Keith’s big, frightened eyes, scanning Shiro’s body for the hurt he caused him but Shiro waved it all away. Now, days later, the bruise still throbs painfully under Shiro’s hand. In some twisted way, he thinks he deserves it.

Before he can spiral deeper, a voice interrupts his train of thoughts. “Ouch. Did someone try to kill you, Sir?”

Shiro twirls around in his seat to see Curtis leaning against a desk to Shiro’s left. He’s clearly waiting for an actual answer and Shiro just stares at him. “Oh. Uh.” He stumbles over words before even forming them in his mind. He needs to get it together. “No,” Shiro sighs and turns his head away, inwardly cursing the pain shooting through his shoulder. “Just some physical training.”

Curtis nods, even though he isn’t convinced. He moves to sit in the seat next to Shiro to pull a few loose papers and a pen. Shiro watches him unashamedly while Curtis doesn’t spare him a second glance. His eyes are fixed on the words, scanning the pages rapidly and turning them over. Shiro only notices he’s staring when he makes a mental note that it’s already the third page Curtis is turning.

“Can I help you with something, Sir?” Curtis asks without looking up, startling Shiro.

Shiro spins in his chair to face forward, taking his own report back into his hand and stares at black letters on white paper that make no sense. “No.” He groans again, shoulder hurting. “I’m fine.”

“You might wanna put some lotion on your shoulder, Sir,” Curtis says. Shiro’s gaze flickers to the side, only to see that Curtis’ eyes are still fixed on the pages in front of him.

Shiro doesn’t answer immediately. He’s hung up on the way Curtis calls him ‘Sir’. It feels a little surreal to Shiro that a stranger and someone that is barely any younger than him keeps calling him that even though no one is around. It’s comically really, how they keep meeting in the Atlas control room at night and yet Curtis stays true to his seemingly polite nature. Shiro opens his mouth to offers for Curtis to drop it, then closes it again.

“Thanks, Curtis,” he says. Curtis nods, smiles. And then that’s it.

They keep working alongside each other, quiet, like the cold stars glistening on the other side of the thick front glass. Shiro yawns despite his mind being wide awake, only filtering through the information of the report by now. When Curtis wristwatch beeps to signal the time – 2 am – they both stack the papers together and puts them back into his drawer.

“You look pretty stressed,” he then comments, helpfully dropping the ‘Sir’ all without Shiro telling him to. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, you can just,” Curtis’ eyes flicker away, “you know.”

Shiro appreciates the offer and stops himself short from laughing. It’s not because Curtis’ words themselves are laughable, or that it’s not endearing for Shiro to have someone on his crew, ready to support him. Shiro doubts that talking about his troubles would be worth anything. Shiro is amused by the thought of confiding into anyone with ‘ _I think I am in love with my best friend – I stared at his ass for half an hour yesterday. I was so pent-up that I jerked off three the same day, despite every inch of my body still hurting from the time he beat my ass while I was distracted by him. Every fiber of myself resolves around him and he trusts me to be his friend. And the worst thing is, none of that is important. We’re trying to win a war, after all._

The smile Shiro gives Curtis is too frozen to come across as the honest effort to show appreciation that it is. Shiro tries harder, then. “Thanks Curtis. I appreciate it,” he vocalizes.

The other man nods, barely looking at Shiro anymore as he pushes away from his desk.

“I’m going to bed. See you in a few hours, Sir.”

“Yes,” Shiro says, disappointed in himself. “See you.”

*

It becomes a thing so fast Shiro doesn’t even question it. They both return at some point sooner or later at night to the control room to get work done and then talk about everything and nothing. Shiro doesn’t confide in Curtis as a listener for his problems, but it takes the edge of just a little and makes Shiro feel a lot more relaxed again.

He learns a few things about Curtis that don’t make him the most interesting person per se, but an acceptable fellow in general.

Curtis never loses the initial respect he had for Shiro in his position as the Admiral, but he starts to relax around him a lot more.

Today, Shiro feels particular stormy. He can’t keep his mind from spiraling into what happened that day – the Paladins on the planet with toxic gas, Zethrid holding onto Keith, almost suffocating him before she even shoots him. Her threats but worst of all, Shiro’s inability to think, move, kill before Zethrid can kill Keith. Then, he thinks, how out of all people, Acxa wasn’t paralyzed by fear and helped instead. Only an idiot wouldn’t know she’s fond of Keith, too.

It could have been over so quickly. Another day, another moment to remind him that Keith one day is there but the other day he could be gone.

Shiro hasn’t visited him yet, too aware that his emotions will show on his face the moment he’ll find Keith, looking small on the hospital bed. He has to go at some point, better earlier than later. He’s his friend, after all.

Shiro doesn’t know what face he has been making but it tells him enough about it when Curtis addresses him out of nowhere. “I said this before, Sir,” Curtis says with a small smile, rocking back and forth in his seat, “if there’s anything I can help you with, I’ll gladly do so.”

Shiro forces a chuckle, mind hazy and still occupied with everything else. Curtis’ tone is tenser as usual, too. Shiro’s mind wanders and he thinks of Keith, thinks of him being safe and probably asleep in the small bed in the emergency wing of the Atlas. Shiro thinks about everything that weighs him down – about the pressure to succeed, to bring home a win against who-knows-who in this war, to be there for the Paladins but still act on strategy and not emotion. He thinks of every night this week he jerked off thinking about his cum landing in Keith’s mouth or face, posing for him to see, juggling between _‘this is just fantasy and nothing to be guilty about’_ and _‘he said I’m his brother’_.

Shiro takes a deep breath. “I swear it’s nothing you can help me with.”

He doesn’t mean the harsh tone and the finality of that sentence to weigh them down, because for a while, Shiro admittedly liked how Curtis enabled him to be alone, but with company, which feels less crushing than moping in his own room behind closed doors.

Curtis only hums, seemingly not reacting in another way to that. Shiro turns back to his datapad – not ready to fake another hour of actually working on anything – and opens one of the silly apps that Pidge downloaded for him a few weeks ago.

In hindsight, Shiro is sure he could have seen it coming from lightyears away. He feels his shoulders tense the moment Curtis stands from his chair. He takes the two steps for him to end up next to Shiro. Shiro lets his datapad fall to the ground again and wonders for a second how the screen hasn’t broken yet, until he feels two hands on each side of the chair, twirling it towards Curtis. “I mean it, Sir,” Curtis insists, big brown eyes looking down at Shiro with an intensity that Shiro hasn’t seen yet. “If there’s anything you need, I’m happy to assist.”

Shiro lets out a punched-out breath and leans back a little, not used to someone’s presence so close to him in a long time. 

“I’m—” Shiro starts, eyes wandering to the side, unable to reciprocate Curtis’ gaze. “You can’t help me with _that_ ,” he admits. Admits it to Curtis and to himself. No one can help him with that.

Shiro doesn’t expect Curtis to snort. “You decided that pretty quickly,” he says.

“Well,” Shiro’s cheeks redden as Curtis leans closer, too aware the sound of the breath that escapes him sounding like he’d just run a marathon. “I just know that you won’t be able to—” Shiro starts and gets interrupted immediately.

“And I said,” Curtis repeats, voice firm, “I’m happy to assist with _anything_.”

When Shiro’s eyes flicker back to Curtis again, he focuses on Curtis’ gaze first, then the small smile curling around his lips. Shiro doesn’t have time to fully comprehend Curtis’ meaning – was he always so coy? – before Curtis places a hand on Shiro’s thigh and sinks to his knees.

 _Oh_ , Shiro thinks with startling clarity. _That’s happening._

Shiro watches quietly from above, staring down at the crown of Curtis’ thick brown hair. It looks freshly cut, the fine strands neatly trimmed and arranged in order only with a tiny bit of hair product in it. Shiro stares down until Curtis looks up to him, red shimmer on his cheeks, but nonetheless, confident looking. Curtis has one brow raised and waits. Completely frozen to his seat, Shiro observes how Curtis’ gaze drops again before he roams his hands up and down Shiro’s thigh. The small gasp that escapes Shiro feels like a personal betrayal of his own body for simply _wanting_ , even more when Curtis snorts about that embarrassing little sound Shiro made and gets to work at Shiro’s pants.

Curtis quickly shoves them down and as if on autopilot, Shiro raises his hips to give him access. With Shiro’s pants pooling around his ankles, he has almost no mobility, but he doesn’t seem to need it. Curtis strokes his dark hands over Shiro’s unclothed thighs, then leaves one hand warm on Shiro’s skin, stroking over the soft white leg hair there, down to the smoother areas between Shiro’s thighs. It could be both the time, the place or Shiro’s momentary state of mind for him to not raise a word about responsibility, or how Curtis shouldn’t give him a blowjob at their shared workplace. Maybe Shiro was left untouched for too long. Maybe he enjoys the possibility of shutting his mind off completely for once. The initial surprise is gone, replaced by blind want, growing arousal and Shiro pressing his back further into the black leather of the seat as Curtis roams his hands up his body.

He lets out a groan, this time, both relaxing and tensing at the hands that firmly grab his pecs before wandering down again. Shiro is sure he’s developing mad goose bumps all over his body, fueled by the boiling arousal he pushed down for so long. The heartfelt kiss to his inner thigh makes him inhale sharply for a second time and reminds Shiro that aside from his rank, his work, the current threats of war, the pressure, he’s still a human with needs that aren’t fulfilled by his robotic arm only. Curtis is both soft and slow and terrifyingly quick, has his hands in places that were untouched too long, molding Shiro into shape and knowing exactly what he wants next. There’s another kiss on the inside of Shiro’s left thigh – on a stubborn bruise Keith left on him when they sparred a few days earlier. Shiro bites his lips; it doesn’t hurt physically – it hurts in other ways – but he doesn’t have the mind to tell Curtis to not touch him there.

*

Shiro takes a dress shirt from his drawer – not his uniform – in the early morning hours to find Keith. Despite the shower around 5 am, his body feels revolting. He combs his hair back neatly, then roughs through it again to form it back into his usual hairstyle, to hide the deep folds on his forehead and the red eyes from his lack of sleep.

It’s too early for anyone except the night shift to be awake, but even the assigned personal for that is nowhere to be seen, leaving corridors and common rooms empty, as if the Atlas was a ghost ship. Shiro welcomes the quiet morning hours of the ships internal fixed 24-hour rhythm and walks with firm steps towards the hospital wing.

A tired nurse sits on the side, quietly watching the deserted white-walled room, pouring another coffee the moment Shiro barges in. With a quiet nod she lets him pass to the only living thing on the station – a quiet small lump on a bed in the far left corner.

Shiro ponders for a minute about turning back and leaving through the door he came in, again. The lump a few feet away from him stirs slightly and turns all of a sudden and the anticipation of Keith waking binds Shiro’s feet to the ground. He can’t move, won’t move, only waits with his breath held.

Keith doesn’t wake up and yet Shiro comes closer, sits down in the uncomfortable-looking chair right next to Keith’s bed as quietly as possible.

Shiro watches for a sign; open eyes, stilled breath, rising body, but there’s nothing. Keith deserves to rest as much as he wants, Shiro thinks, leans back into the chair and closes his eyes, just for a minute, just for a second, pushing the thoughts away that nag at his mind as soon as darkness encloses him.

He doesn’t notice when Keith wakes.

There’s the soft touch of a hand on Shiro’s sleeve, weakly pulling on the soft material of Shiro’s white dress shirt. When Shiro snaps his eyes open and looks at the source of his disturber, he looks into a pair of curious lavender eyes, currently observing him. The smile that follows, stills his heart.

“You came,” Keith whispers, eyes big and smile warm. Shiro’s heart shatters into pieces while his body sinks, sinks, sinks to the ground. Keith coughs one, two times before slowly falling back into his bed. “Even wore a dress shirt,” Shiro hears Keith mutter. He can’t help the smile appear on his face, too.

“For you, always,” Shiro teases but means it. He listens to another one of Keith’s deep coughs, probably stemming from a defense mechanism of Keith’s lungs being filled with the toxic gasses on the last mission.

Keith laughs quietly, a light little sound in the face of the severe matter that happened to him. Shiro pushes away Zethrid’s voice and dismisses the memory of it and tries to focus on Keith again.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Shiro says and takes his hand and Keith lets him. Keith’s hand is warm in his palm until it begins to sweat – but Shiro holds onto him and ignores all other responsibilities for today, to spend the noon with Keith.

*

Shiro doesn’t go back to the Atlas control room for a whole week but thinks back to the night Curtis sucked him off every day. It’s a hazy memory, one that interferes with his performance in his workplace throughout the day, especially when he has to look or address Curtis.

He’s hiding from him, even though he enjoyed it. It was the first time in _years_ that someone swallowed Shiro’s dick down his mouth. Shiro thinks about his own sad hand relieving him the past few weeks, then that he can’t let something continue when he doesn’t know the expectations of the other person. Shiro tries his best to ignore the curious looks Curtis throws him during workhours, knowing that he tries to read Shiro’s behavior and ends up getting nothing.

It isn’t guilt but need that brings Shiro to the front door of a room he’s never been to before the next day. He knocks politely and waits for an answer until he’s let in and can spend the time where he feels pent up a little bit different than usual.

*

He’s taking care of his little problem, Shiro thinks. He takes care of his moody, despicable self, takes care of his inappropriate thoughts. And as a result, Shiro will feel less on edge around Keith, less agitated about their friendship.

*

Shiro doesn’t know why Curtis started this in the first place – there are reasons obvious enough.

After the first time that Shiro holds Curtis down and fucks his ass hard while Curtis spreads his legs wider and wider for him, after their first time spent together in a bed – both of them a panting mess – Shiro asks him outright, diplomatic. “You don’t like me, do you?”

He asked when Curtis had placed a firm kisses to Shiro’s smooth chest, while Shiro had observed the dark hair sticking to a sweaty but relaxed forehead. Curtis had rolled onto his back next to him with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Don’t worry,” he replied and then proceeded to curl into his side. Shiro thinks it doesn’t count a real answer. He also thinks that his own grave is dug too deep to get out and give another person a hand, or warn them in time, before they dug their own. He tiredly hopes that Curtis will just look out after himself.

*

Relieved, Shiro realizes that Curtis doesn’t like him nearly as much as he feared. Shiro thinks back to his past relationships and how hard it has been to read people. It still is. Shiro can see some emotions clearly, just not romantic ones.

*

The next day, all of a sudden, he meets Keith at lunch.

The Paladins have been in and out and on their own missions in between and it’s hard to keep track even with two communication officers. Keith’s face mirrors Shiro’s as they meet each other at the cafeteria over their food tablets. The surprise is reciprocal, but so is the wish to eat together, which is why they end up in a far corner, away from the rest of the Paladins.

Shiro’s agitated. He suddenly feels so nervous that he fears he will be sick. Keith quietly eats his meal across from him and Shiro follows every of his movements, eyes stopping at the flutter of Keith’s eye lashes, the movement of the silky hair that falls over his shoulder. It’s grown so long. Shiro is so lost.

“We’re not making real progress,” Keith says into the quiet between them. All around them, people are talking, chatting, trying to forget the dagger of war hanging over everyone’s head for a minute. Then there’s Keith, addressing where issues press most. Shiro’s mood deflates and he’s ashamed that he didn’t think of talking about the important issues at hand first.

“We’re doing our best,” Shiro corrects, doing his best at being the personification of his motivational poster that’s been hanging in Garrison corridors since he broke his first record. “Even if it doesn’t look like it, we’re getting closer.”

As Shiro watches Keith’s gaze sink, his heart sinks, too. The times where Keith gobbled up Shiro’s advice without a kernel of doubt are officially over, he thinks. But then Keith reaches out, takes Shiro’s hand, takes a deep breath. Shiro’s palm is sweaty but thankfully Keith took his right hand – the Altean arm – to forge a connection between them too in this too bright, too crowded, too loud lunchroom. Shiro’s heart beats like a thunderstorm wanting to break free. He’s unable to look Keith in the eye when Keith smiles at him and nods, lets go off his hand and continues eating.

“You’re right,” Keith says, “You always are.” He drops his gaze. “Thanks.”

Shiro hardly listens when Keith tells him how they will defeat the Empire and how they will bring peace in the end. His brain is stuck on those words, circling around the thought how Keith’s wrong, so wrong to thank him, so wrong to praise Shiro for saying the right things when he’s doing the wrong things all the time.

*

Curtis loves sucking his cock. Shiro doesn’t know why but lets him every time Curtis remotely shows that he wants to. Shiro admires the view from above, to look down at the top of his head moving. Sometimes he leans back but today his hand is curled around the back of Curtis neck while he watches and feels his cock disappear in the wet heat a swollen mouth. Shiro’s thoughts want to escape to something – someone – else but he doesn’t let them. He likes it better that way, being present physically and mentally.

He slowly closes his eyes in order to feel better how Curtis’ head moves eager to please him and suddenly groans so loudly that his subordinate lets his cock slip out of his mouth. Curtis looks up with a wicked smile. “You’re getting off very quick,” he grins. Shiro can’t stop the embarrassment and anger pulse through him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. Curtis raises his eyebrows at him. He doesn’t retreat and Shiro wonders if he’s used to Shiro’s voice taking a firmer shape because of work. “Just suck my cock,” Shiro adds harshly. Curtis blinks at him a few times, the casts his eyes down. Shiro watches how obeying Curtis takes him down the throat, pumps the cock in his mouth deeper with pliant enthusiasm. Curtis wasn’t a wrong with what he said earlier. He isn’t the best fuck Shiro ever had but he knows how to hollow his cheeks, how to circle his tongue and how to bob his head so Shiro’s abdominal muscles contract ad absurdum. Curtis hums around his cock – he’s quick, he’s direct, he’s effective. Shiro comes down his throat.

The mess spills out from his mouth, but Curtis greedily licks it and swallows what he can. It’s like an image out of the dirties porn Shiro ever watched. Curtis then takes his time caressing Shiro’s rough and split skin, even gets a towel to clean him. Shiro feels unable to move, drops back on the bed and closes his eyes, only opens them again when he feels Curtis tuck his cock back into his pants.

“Thanks,” Shiro says, rubbing his hand over his face. “And sorry.”

Shiro can’t help feeling dirty, also unsure how he should proceed, just like the first time when they did this.

“You’re welcome,” Curtis says, shrugging it off. “Don’t be. I liked it, kind of.”

Shiro isn’t sure if he should take his word on it but nods. Curtis gets dressed, then raises his left wrist to check the time.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks.

“Got a meeting then,” Shiro says. Allura had wanted to talk to him. And to Keith, she said. Shiro knows better than to postpone it just to fuck. He’s still feeling a little flustered at how spent he lies on his bed. Shiro takes a steadying breath, uncertain gaze steadying on Curtis. His dark brown eyes look back at Shiro, waiting.

“The day after,” Shiro suggests. “In case you’re free.”

*

Allura tells them about the entity.

She straight out explains what she did, possibly thinking about it for the last few weeks. Keith looks like he’s going to shout at her. Shiro’s ears ring. But he keeps his inhuman cool.

“What do we have to do?” he asks Allura and both Keith and she turn their heads to him. Keith is looking out of it but stays quiet. Allura looks relieved.

“The entity connects us,” Allura says, words coming slowly. She thumbs at her hand in a nervous manner but when she looks up, her eyes are determined. “It weakens her. I can feel it. I have to use the connection when we’re close enough to Honerva.”

“Why?” Keith interrupts. “Why Honerva?”

“She’s the last one wanting active harm for us. Zarkon is dead. The druids are disrupted. They don’t have a leader to follow. But Honerva’s power is too great to leave it be. She’s seeking to destroy the White Lion.”

Allura uses the momentum she has, to continue. Keith and Shiro stay quiet.

“I think she’s seeking to do worse. We need to be prepared to… eliminate her.”

Shiro feels Keith gaze on him but doesn’t look to the side. He knows what it boils down to.

“I will weaken the entity while one of you both…”

“Kill her,” Shiro finishes for her, voice bitter.

Allura looks down.

*

Keith follows Shiro after Shiro puts an end to their meeting. Keith hurries down the corridor trailing Shiro, not stopping for even a second.

“Shiro,” he calls out to him. Shiro doesn’t stop or wait for him.

“Shiro,” Keith calls out again and this time he has caught up with Shiro, stopped him by pulling on his hand. Shiro curses Keith’s strength internally and turns around, eyes red and nostrils wide. Keith snaps his mouth shut and looks at him.

They quietly look at each other. Shiro’s chest is heaving as if he’d just took a run.

“I will do it,” Keith says. Shiro shakes his head even before he finished his sentence. “No,” he says and thinks of Sendak’s death, thinks of the clone facility, thinks of all the sacrifices Keith already made for him.

Keith squeezes his hand tighter. “I will,” he says again.

Holding Keith’s hand never felt so scarring, but Shiro keeps standing there, in the dim light of the Atlas at night, holding Keith’s hand and breathing his breath. Standing there, waiting, it calms Shiro. It calms him despite the unease he feels about the Witch and about the discussion of killing someone in person. It’s no different than using a war machine, and still… It’s one step away from being a monster.

Shiro’s breath comes more evenly now. He stares at his and Keith’s joined hands, furrows his brow, self-deprecating smile following quickly to make ease of the situation. “Look at me,” Shiro starts. “I’m a sorry excuse f—”

“You’re amazing,” Keith interrupts as if he was prepared for Shiro to say this. There’s a spark in his eyes and his face is vulnerable and honest. Shiro can’t help shuddering at how close they are, how much Keith’s invades his space, and more than that, wants to be there.

“I will protect you, Shiro.”

Before Shiro knows it, Keith has wrapped his arms around him and pulls him close. Shiro shudders again, this time from the way Keith’s voice speaks to him, how he rubs one hand over Shiro’s back, how he presses his face into Shiro’s chest. The fear of loss washes over him. Zethrid, Honerva, Shiro himself or his clone, it doesn’t matter. His arms hang loosely at his sides, until he takes a deep breath, quietly vows that he won’t let anything happen to Keith and how he will do everything for him to be alright.

*

Shiro’s drowns in the way it feels, in the way Curtis hard cock plunges into him repeatedly, rubbing in all the right ways. Heat builds up quickly, creates arousal that pools deep in his belly. Shiro holds onto Curtis back, mind dizzying with the fast pace Curtis set, as if he knew already how Shiro likes it today. Shiro rolls his hips to meet him, urge him deeper quicker, fingers digging deep into the flesh. The slapping, the heat, the movements – it’s good, it makes him feel feral and liberated, makes him feel sexy and wanted. When Curtis’ cock starts brushing against his prostate, Shiro bites his lip, groans louder and bites into Curtis shoulder to muffle his shouts. Curtis is fucking him even harder now, pressing him into the mattress, holding his hips steady to ram into him. Shiro knew Curtis was strong when they’ve undressed together for the first time, and he had time for his eyes to carve holes into Curtis’ firm muscles, but he truly didn’t expect for him to be _that_ strong.

“Fuck,” Shiro gasps, grabbing onto Curtis for his life. He has to hold on and not let loose. “Fuck, he groans again, hips stuttering as the long cock slides in and out of him and makes him see white. He feels everything starting to come loose, the stimulation overwhelming him. Shiro is unable to raise his hand to his mouth, unable to stop the name from escaping.

“Keith,” he starts sobbing, feeling wracked and unable to hold back. “Keith, fuck, you’re so good, fuck me, f-fuck me,” he shouts.

Curtis certainly heard him but doesn’t stop his furious rhythm until he settles on longer but slower strokes. He does it so good that it makes Shiro’s toes curl. He feels his thighs shake and knows he must be close. With a few more slaps of Curtis hips into his ass, they both push over the edge, quick and dirty.

*

Honerva’s dead.

The relief is initial. The recovery longer. Silence on the Atlas spreads out like slow flames, even though everyone should be relieved, should be celebrating their return as war heroes. But everyone is exhausted. Tired.

One week after their return to Earth, Curtis formally asks Shiro to meet him.

“You’re breaking up?” Shiro asks him, voice lowered. They sit in a small coffee place not too far from the Garrison’s headquarters. Shiro’s drinking tea, while Curtis is fondling the cup of black coffee in front of him. He cocks his head, expression innocently but also confused.

“Shiro.” He raises an eyebrow. “We weren’t dating to begin with.”

“Ah.” Shiro chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah. Yeah. I mean you’re free to do—”

Curtis casts his eyes down. “Yeah.”

“So, uh.” Shiro doesn’t know if he should shake his hand, pat his back or kiss him goodbye, so he just sirs there, weirdly aware of his arms just hanging to his sides. “Farewell?”

Curtis doesn’t seem happy with that. He snaps his eyes up, smiling an awkward smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Someone asked me out. Otherwise I wouldn’t have, uh. ‘Broken it up’, you know.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. “It’s okay,” he quickly reassures. “I know it wasn’t anything more. I’m glad you got asked out—”

“Yeah,” Curtis smiles an actual smile now. His smile is pretty when it’s so lightheaded, accenting his reddened cheeks. “We knew each other from before, you know. He works at the Garrison base back home,” Curtis explains even though Shiro didn’t ask. Shiro appreciates that painful honesty of his. He’s thankful their inevitable break-up (even though they weren’t together to begin with) happens like this.

“He’s a little older than we both are, but you might know him.”

Shiro knows before Curtis tells him.

“His name is Adam.”

It’s weirdly fitting, Shiro thinks.

*

With the end of the war – Honerva’s end – Shiro feels light again. Curtis ending their office romance – if one could call it that – is an additional relief.

There’s still so much to do but there’s moments where he’s able to breath, able to feel, able to hurt again. Shiro can lie in the grass on a cloudless day with all the ease of the world in his hands. He can feel the sun tickling on his face and remember what’s it like to live.

Shiro feels a small shadow fall over his face, blocking the sun from blinding him in a way that he can safely open his eyes and see again.

Keith’s face looks down on him and Shiro feels, feels, feels again. The sun, the breeze, the oxygen. He lets it wash over him, not free from guilt, but almost free from everything. He loves him so much.

“You found me.” He says and doesn’t mean to make those words sound so dreamily. It’s making Keith smile in return.

“I always will,” Keith answers with an honest ease. Shiro realizes that honesty makes him weak. Keith does, too.

They look at each other for a few moments, gazes bearing naked and fearless emotion for each other. Shiro doesn’t care what it is, he’s just glad.

He wonders if Keith knows about Curtis – wonders what those shy gazes mean – wonders what of the words Keith said to him are true and which are not – wonders if he was ever his friend to begin with when he couldn’t read him at all.

It doesn’t matter, Shiro thinks. Keith deserves everything. He slowly reaches out to Keith from where he lies on the fresh-cut grass, softly stroking his thumb over Keith’s cheek. Keith watches him closely in return, careful eyes following every movement of Shiro’s hand before he reaches out himself to mirror Shiro’s gesture.

One brief thought crosses Shiro’s mind as he looks up to the person he admires most dearly in his life. One, that he’s not proud, not happy, but relieved that Keith hadn’t had a part in the self-destructive period that Shiro had those past few months.

“What now?” Shiro asks and the question makes both him and Keith pause in the movement of their hands. Keith looks down, curious for Shiro’s question, oblivious for its meaning. At first.

His tongue darts out when Keith averts his eyes and looks at Shiro’s hair instead. Shiro takes Keith’s hand in his own, looks at the back of the hand and then at the soft flesh of Keith’s palm, brings it to his mouth and brushes the skin with his lips, too soft for it to be a kiss. He hears Keith gasp and it’s enough. All those months of fear and yet this tiny leap of faith.

Shiro brushes all the knuckles softly with closed eyes, heart thumping loudly in his chest. He then brings Keith hand to feel his ribcage, right between the flesh of his chest. He never felt so bare before when he slowly places Keith’s hand against his chest.

“Stay with me for a little longer,” he murmurs, knowing that Keith will understand.

When Shiro opens his eyes, big amethysts look back at him. Keith’s whole face is flustered in red. “I will,” he murmurs back. When Shiro raises his eyebrows in surprise, mouth slightly opened, Keith clears his throat and repeats.

“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> *gestures vaguely* idk
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